She dreams her dreams
Of midsummer rain's scent
From heights that overlook
Miles of wasteland below.
She is locked forever
In her room with no clock
With no bible or bed
With no food or water either.
Yearning for those daisies
To adorn the dying country
Like an impartial grave
As all graves should be.
It took no time to remember
That the rain had stopped
Ages before the prison was made
By her and just her.
Desire for blooms dwindled
When she recalled the last flower
Died when her heart broke,
When he left her for another.
She curls like a snail
Into herself, with her companions,
The inanity of her hopes
And the absurdity of self infliction.
YOU ARE READING
Hopeless
PoetrySeries of 10 poems about unrequited love, heartbreak and the hopelessness of it all
